


It's a Bus Joke

by kolibris



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Boundary Issues, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Massage, Masturbation, POV Second Person, Ryuji POV, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolibris/pseuds/kolibris
Summary: Don’t touch your friend’s dick. Don’t touch your friend’s dick while you’re literally inside of your other friend. This seriously isn’t that hard.





	It's a Bus Joke

**Author's Note:**

> More porn? More porn!
> 
> This one feels way dumber and more self-indulgent than usual. ...But since I’ve been working night shift, I think everything I do is a little bit dumber. So: enjoy???!

You were wondering why Akira didn’t backflip off of the subway platform today.

“I’m tired,” Akira whines. He’s slouched himself lazily against the Mona car, shoulder digging into the driver’s side door. “I got home late last night.”

“That’s no excuse!” Morgana’s voice sails through the air from somewhere, seriously, you still haven’t figured how the hell he talks as a car yet. “So did I and my engine is running smooooooth as butter today.”

You stroll over and hook an arm around Akira to pull him close. “Don’t you sleep in a desk all day? C’mon, cut him some slack.” You give Akira a quick shake that’s maybe a little too hard for him right now, because his head rolls around like it’s on loose.

“We all made an effort to be here, so…” Makoto says, her face looking stern. “Let’s just work for a little bit, okay?”

True, you guys do need a lot more cash. Which is all Makoto’s fault, by the way, ‘cause who said they wanted imported brass knuckles? You don’t think that even makes a difference beyond sounding totally fucking cool, but you’ve only been on the receiving end of her fists once after she got zapped with a Pulinpa so it’s not like you’re an expert here.

But today already looks promising because you’re fast enough to get shotgun, and you swing yourself in next to Akira, still quietly sitting at the wheel. Instead of turning on the ignition as usual, though, he turns around and climbs out of his seat, squeezing through Yusuke and Ann until he’s reached the very back of the car.

“You’re not gonna drive?” you call back at him.

“No. I feel kinda sleepy.” When he sits down, he swings his legs up to set them on the backrest and relaxes back into his seat, sinking down with a finality that says he’s not getting up any time soon.

“Hell yeah, then it’s my turn!” You bounce over into the driver’s seat hard enough to make Morgana yelp. “Yeaaaaahhhh boyyyyyy—”

Then you feel a yank on your ear hard enough to pull your whole goddamn head over, and Ann’s little pink hand slaps you the rest of the way down to the backrest. “There’s no way _you’re_ going to drive!”

You sit up and quickly rub your ear. Man, it hurts like a bitch. “Then who? _You?_ ”

“Well, yeah,” she says.

“Excuse me, no you’re not,” Makoto butts in.

You stop paying attention to the argument that follows over driving practice or licenses or whatever and fiddle with the dashboard instead, but Morgana growls out a warning when you try to go for the ignition switch. Damn. Then Makoto and Ann make you leave so they can hash it out outside of the car, so you resign yourself to your new spot in the middle section and kick back next to Yusuke, who’s busily sketching away on his hugeass pad of paper sticking halfway into your personal bubble.

This is... fine. This is cool. _Would’ve_ been cool, if you didn’t just see Makoto hop back in on the passenger’s side instead, followed by Ann climbing in and gleefully tapping on the wheel.

You cross your arms. “Hey, why’s she get to drive?”

Makoto just shoots you a weirdly flushed _don’t argue with me_ look that still doesn’t answer your question. Whatever. “Lady Ann is _always_ welcome behind my wheel,” Morgana croons and Ann doesn’t even fight the self-satisfied look that crosses her face.

“Yeah yeah, can we just go?”

“Mmhm! Hold onto your butts, everybody,” Ann crows, “because you’re gonna see my inner speed demon!”

It’s easily the most low-effort Mementos run you guys have ever done. “Glorified driving instructor simulator” is more like it, ‘cause Ann’s just getting coached by Makoto and Morgana while she putters around on the tracks like a grandma, with the occasional hulking Shadow fleeing out of her way. You’re bored as shit already with nothing to kill and you didn’t even bring anything fun to drink. If even Akira’s gone to sleep, that must really mean something.

You peek over your shoulder at him. There’s nothing to see in the subway but the same dark, winding tunnels on infinite repeat, so you have to keep yourself entertained somehow and that entertainment generally ends up being Akira. That’s why you try to sit next to him when you can because it’s easier to hang out and talk that way, although you don’t have to always be talking. Sometimes you just watch him instead. He always ends up being the most interesting thing in the car.

Now he just looks pretty relaxed, eyes closed and chest gently rising, and he’s tucked himself into the corner so he stays propped upright. There’s a whole seat’s worth of empty space next to him. It looks inviting.

With one quick motion, you clamber over the back of your seat and settle yourself right next to Akira. He cracks open one lazy eye at you.

“Hey, I’m gonna crash here too,” you say.

“Be my guest,” he mumbles. You put your feet up too, knocking them into his boots in the process, and Akira makes a grumpy noise in response.

“Skull, you too?” Makoto groans from all the way up front. “We can’t all go to sleep here.”

With a quick rev of his engine, Morgana says, “Want me to wake them up?”

“Please don’t! Focus on the steering part, okay?!”

They’re all worrying for nothing, because you don’t even feel like sleeping now. Your feet just have all this energy to them, so you couldn’t have anyway, and you let it out through wiggling them in incessant tapping against Akira’s. Chilling next to him is turning out to be a pretty good alternative – you’re enjoying yourself just sitting here like this.

“It’s warm back here,” you hear Akira mutter. Oh, you’d figured he totally passed out already.

“Yeah, dude,” you say, “think about how I must feel sittin’ back here all the time. Sweating my ass off while you get to roll your window down.”

“Huh. I didn’t know.”

“You’d know if you ever switched with anybody!” You start slapping at his shoulder. “Hey, so you’ll let me drive next time, yeah? It’s cool with you, right?”

He swats you back. “Shut up already, I can’t sleep.” So you push him back hard on his legs and your conversation breaks down into a flurry of open hands until Akira finally calls uncle on your impromptu slapfight.

You drop your hand and let it linger close to his legs. You’re struck by a sudden curiosity to just, you know, see what they feel like, so you run your hand up one to his knee. “Damn, your legs feel like rocks. Look who got some muscle!” You rub his thigh. “Our training is really workin’, huh?”

“Yeah, it is— _ow_ , not too hard, I’m still sore.”

“So just roll ‘em out. Feels way better, trust me. Seriously, all you need is a tennis ball.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it works. I did it all the time when I was in track. Practicin’ for nationals really dicks up your legs.” You pause to think. “But hands work too. Here.” You clap his shins until he moves his legs back down to the floor, and then you do too so you can comfortably curve yourself around him.

“Like this,” you say. You start to press out each knot with the heel of your palm, mostly because Akira doesn’t tell you not to. And holy shit, it feels like there’s five million of them in his thigh, how the hell does he even make it through your runs? His face even twists up a little whenever you work on an extra tense spot, but it’s quickly followed by an open look of relief that tells you he needed this pretty badly. He really should’ve said something; you would’ve showed him how to do this way sooner.

It takes a good while, but you can finally knead his leg smooth without him nearly jumping out of his seat. “Better, right?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, even his voice sounding slack, “yeah, that’s so much better.” He wiggles his leg around. “Doesn’t hurt as bad now.”

“Nice!” You reach over and squeeze along his other thigh. “Okay, next one.” This leg is just as stiff as the other one, so you take your time massaging it out, moving across his leg in slow, firm circles. Actually, maybe this one is even worse, because Akira keeps squirming in his seat as you work your hands. The face he’s making is kind of distracting, eyebrows pulled tight and lips fidgety as he chews on them a little, so you keep glancing up at him even though you should be paying attention to what you’re doing.

You feel like you should say something here. “Almost done.”

Akira doesn’t say anything back, just nods, and you press this leg out until it feels as pliable as the other one too. He still looks pretty uncomfortable, though. You’d ask him what’s wrong, but when you pull your hand back and brush against his erection along the way, you find that you’ve already answered your own question.

You whisper at him in awe, “Oh man, did I just give you a boner?”

“Shhh!” Akira hisses, which makes you realize you should probably tone it down a notch or ten.

“My bad,” you finish lamely. Akira didn’t say no though, so yeah, you definitely made him pop one. You resist the urge to look back down at your handiwork. Are your massaging skills that godly? “Uh, so you—”

“I’m tired,” Akira just says, like that explains shit about anything.

“Oh. Okay.”

But you don’t move your hand from his thigh, and he doesn’t move it for you. It’s like you’re trapped in a—what’s it called?—a Spanish standoff, you and Akira and Akira’s erection and no one is budging. This is pretty weird, right? You should find it pretty weird, but you don’t, not really. Shit like this just happens sometimes; not like he could control it or anything. Although it’s kind of your fault too, because maybe you should have asked first if Akira was the kind of guy who likes a good thigh rubbing.

Your eyes finally zip down to his lap before you can catch yourself and huh, looks like he liked it _a lot_. When you look back up at him, his mouth is pressed into an even tighter line, radiating sheer embarrassment, and you feel a hundred times worse for doing this to him in the first place. What’s he got to do now, just sit here until it goes away, all uncomfortable and blue-balled and sad? Some friend you are.

But you could… fix that. You got him into this mess, right, so you could get him out of it. Couldn’t you? Nothing to it; just help him out real fast, be done with it.

“You want, uh…” you swallow a bit, “you want another massage?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea anymore.”

“No, I mean like, a different kind. Y’know.”

No, Akira doesn’t know, because he just stares at you like you grew a second head. You dip your hand over the curve of his thigh, but he doesn’t visibly react until you ghost your fingers over the front of his pants and he sucks in way too much air.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says in a horrendous whisper.

The sensation’s dulled through his slacks and your gloves, but he feels pretty damn hard to you. You must have really did a number on him. Even with all the layers in between, though, Akira still responds to the hesitant press of your hand on his cock, tensing up so hard in his seat he looks like he could pop right out of it. You draw your hand back a little bit because maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all, could actually be a completely terrible and stupid idea—but then that tension bursts like a bubble, with the way he slides down enough in his seat to chase his hips after your hand.

“A massage,” Akira repeats to himself, eyes locked square on your hand. “Yeah. Okay then.”

Right, it’s just like working on his legs, except now it’s his rock-hard dick you’re touching, and you don’t know what to do with this newfound information you’re getting from each smooth pass of your hand over it. Feels pretty close in size to yours, you think, which makes sense when you think back to the bathhouse, and oh no, you realize now your mind’s got this idea of what Akira _looks_ like and what Akira _feels_ like and it’s trying way too hard to put the two together. You feel super hot. Maybe it’s from the gross, warm seats, or maybe it’s from your hand in Akira’s gross, warm lap, but you’re burning from the neck up. You thumb your ascot a little looser and Akira watches you as you do it. Shit, his staring is making this even worse.

You cup him more firmly through his slacks and his breath catches in his throat again. Ann giggles over something up front, loud enough to where that noise gets lost underneath, and you push through the jitters that gives you. You’re well aware that all your other friends are right here with you – they’re all busy with something, yeah, but they could look over at any second and catch you diddling Akira in the backseat – but you can’t make yourself stop. It’s because of Akira’s face, looking tight and red, redder than you’ve ever seen it go.

“ _Mmnh_ ,” Akira moans so, so quietly, and you’ve never heard him make a sound like that either. So you push your fingers up to where you can feel the top of his cock and start rubbing around the head until he starts making that noise again and again, each more plaintive than the last. He’s so hard to hear that you have to strain your ears to listen closer, and when that’s not enough, you duck your head down too, bringing your faces a little too close together. Akira’s got his mouth open some, like maybe he’s got something to say, like maybe he’s finally gonna get a little louder this time—

“Skull.”

You wheel your head around to find Yusuke sitting up, holding up his sketchpad at you, and you about shit your pants. Yeah, that’s it, you’re done, you’re so freaking busted; goodbye, whatever’s even left of your dignity—

“Critique my skeleton,” Yusuke says.

He can’t see you. He can’t see you around his stupidly large sketchpad, and you catch the breath that was maybe about to come out as full-force screaming. You snatch your hand away quick from Akira’s lap and then you make yourself look at the thing that just kindly saved your ass. There is, in fact, a nice drawing of a skeleton on the paper, with a whole bunch of other artsy shit around it that Yusuke always likes to add.

“I dunno, Fox,” you croak, “looks good, I guess? I mean, sure looks like a skeleton. What do I know about art?”

“Considering your Persona, I thought you might have some good insight,” he says. “That’s disappointing. But perhaps not surprising.”

You manage a weakly offended “god _damn_ , dude,” but Yusuke’s already gone back to work and tuned you out entirely. Well, okay then, that works for you, because now you can snap your attention back to Akira – he’s totally pretending to be asleep, his head dropped straight down like he’s fallen into a surprise coma. You guess Yusuke saw nothing wrong with Akira looking like he ran a 5k in his sleep so it was convincing enough. But you can’t be this lucky again, so—so better to quit while you’re ahead, before you both really are totally screwed, and Akira can sleep it off for real and you can go back to keeping your hands to yourself.

Huh. Doesn’t sound that appealing, for some reason.

When you place a cautious hand back on Akira’s thigh, he peeks his eyes open, first at Yusuke and then at you, and he nods ever so slightly. You slide your hand right back into place over his dick and he shifts his legs apart with a heady sigh. Yeah, you really don’t know what the hell’s wrong with you, but it’s just something about Akira’s face, and his lips parted just so, and his heavy gaze peering at you from under his dark lashes. It makes you want to rub him faster, him looking that way, so you do it, pulling those little noises out of him again as you work him quick. He’s gotta be close, gotta be, with how tightly he grips the seat and rocks up against your hand, so you can’t let him down now; you’ve already decided you’re gonna get him there.

“Ohh, ah—” he gasps, “—Ryuji—” and Morgana sounds like he’s bitching about someone tickling him, but it doesn’t even hit your brain because Akira just said your _name_ and came in his pants. Right there, in front of you, with a deep soft groan and—whoops, you should probably stop touching him now.

Akira looks so relaxed again, his head lolled over enough where he’s got to look at you with a sideways glance. Then he makes a strange little smile, kinda nervous and kinda sly, and you’re not sure how to take it. Is he happy? Grateful? Weirded out? You could ask, but for once, you’re totally speechless. Something smarter to say than _cool, glad you feel better after jizzing on yourself!_ would be great right now, but nothing’s coming to you. Maybe _can I be next?_ , no wait, shit, that’s not right either—

But you don’t get the chance to figure it out more than that. “Oh my god!” you hear Ann yell, right before the car slams to a stop and you rack up your second head injury of the day from careening forward into the backrest. Ahead you can see some giant roided-up Shadow looking like it’s ready to party, because it’s melting itself down into no less than six goddamn monsters and everybody barrels out to greet them. Except you and Akira, that is, because it might be easier to just die in the car than to get caught like this in front of everyone.

Akira is trying to fix his pants and it looks like he’s failing miserably, wiping his hands over and over the same spot, where he must have… well, he’s wearing black so it’s harder to notice, right? “No way,” he mumbles, “right now? Right _now?_ I can’t—”

Makoto raps her knuckles on the side of the window. “Wake up, Joker! Time to get to work!” she shouts, and then she ducks out of the way of the gigantic fireball that nearly roasts her. Akira makes one last-ditch pants adjustment and then looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Skull, go for me, please,” he quickly whispers at you.

“Dude, _no_ ,” you whisper back, sporting the most obvious erection of all time in your leathers.

Akira swears up and down and grabs his knife, snatches his gun out too, before busting out from the backseat with them all fucked-up akimbo and taking off for the first Shadow he locks eyes with. Damn, do you double-owe him for this? What’s it gonna take for you to make up for this one? And if your dick could just chill out for five seconds and not get so excited over it, you’d appreciate that too.

The car starts to rumble and shake. “Skull, I can’t change back if you don’t get out!”

Fuck that, you’re staying put. “It ain’t cool with you if I just stay here? Look at ‘em, they’ve totally got it.” Yusuke might be on fire a little bit, yeah, but otherwise they’re really kicking ass out there.

“Ugh, you’re so lazy!” Morgana yells, and you don’t know how but you’re ejected right out the bus, sailing through the air until you spin out on your back right into the fray. You’re disoriented and who even knows where your baseball bat flew to, so you know there’s a good chance you’d end up as somebody’s punching bag if Akira didn’t grab you by the arm and pull you up right away. He’s even nice enough to give your ridiculous pants situation only the quickest peek.

“Just fall back, we’re okay. I mean, if you get too worn out here...” he says, and that smile from before is back again, “...you might be the one needing a massage next.”

Forget the battle; now you’ve got to figure out who you've gotta fight to sit next to him again on the way out of here.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing on God’s green earth is better than dirty Monabus jokes. Exhibit A: the [source](https://youtu.be/h1LJCYrPEv8?t=1096) for the title; Exhibit B: this [incredible dialogue](https://tcrf.net/Persona_5_\(PlayStation_3\)/Unused_Voice_Clips#e185_001) that was cut for some very mysterious reason.


End file.
